


Small

by babybrotherdean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Young Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 12:04:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11313015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/babybrotherdean
Summary: He doesn’t want to be alone anymore. He doesn’t want the world to be like this.





	Small

**Author's Note:**

> A small thing I wrote instead of sleeping.

Things are still hazy, and Dean doesn’t like it.

Everything he owns still stinks of smoke. Daddy promises that he’s washed the clothes, but it lingers in his nose every time he picks up his pyjamas or Sammy’s blanket, and privately, he thinks he might stuff them in the garbage can when he gets the chance. The smell hurts his chest, and it makes him dizzy, and it makes his eyes sting with tears he hasn’t been able to shed for the last several days.

They’re staying in a motel today. Daddy keeps promising that all of this is temporary, and that they’ll have a home again soon, but Dean hasn’t slept in his own bed in two weeks and there’s a hole in his chest where something important is supposed to be.

It’s just him and Sammy right now, and Dean’s brother is sleeping, somehow- he hasn’t been very good at it since the fire, but Dean’s gotten okay at convincing him to close his eyes, since it’s the only way that any of them ever get some rest. Daddy’s just stepped out, promising to hurry back, but Daddy’s been making lots of promises recently, and Dean’s starting to think that maybe he can’t keep them all.

It’s too quiet, either way. Maybe that’s what drives Dean to his feet, sliding down off the couch and rubbing at his eyes and staring down at the old carpet for a few seconds before he slowly turns towards the door. Maybe all he needs is a little fresh air, and then, maybe-

Maybe what? Maybe things will be okay?

He decides not to think about that. He decides not to think about Sammy, either, when his brother gives a little hiccup and a sniffle behind him in his fold-out crib, the way he always does when he’s about to start crying.

Dean toddles right to the door, and nothing else seems like it exists. Just the handle that he has to stretch up on his tippy-toes to turn, the little lock that’s easy to undo with his other hand, and then the sunlight that greets him once he’s on the other side, tipping his head back so he can look at the sky.

It’s cold. There’s snow on the ground, too, maybe the first of the year. Mommy used to tell him those sorts of things, but Dean’s forgotten to pay attention this time. It’ll be Christmas, soon, and then his birthday, and then…

Dean shivers, and all at once, he feels very small and very fragile and very, very alone.

He keeps looking up and he tries not to blink, not even when little snowflakes start landing on his cheeks (like angel kisses, Mommy used to tell him) or when the wind starts burning at his eyes. He doesn’t want to start crying again. He’s done more crying in these past two weeks than he’s done in his entire life, and maybe that’s why she won’t come back.

_“Don’t cry, baby. It’s okay. I’ve got you. Mommy’s here.”_

Maybe he just needs to wait a little longer.

When Dean sits down, there’s snow seeping cold into his pyjamas and the concrete is hard and unforgiving underneath him, and it feels like the entire world is bigger and scarier and meaner than it’s ever been before. He’s all alone here, and with every second that passes, he can feel the tears building until it’s too much for him to hold in, and they start slipping down his face, leaving cold little trails behind them that just make him cry harder.

He doesn’t want to be alone anymore. He doesn’t want the world to be like this.

He doesn’t think to pay attention to the crunch of heavy boots in the snow, and it’s not until he’s scooped right off the ground that he realizes his daddy is back. Talking to him, too, with big, rough hands on Dean’s forehead, his cheeks, wiping away snot and tears and melted snow.

“What’re you doing out here?” Daddy whispers, and he sounds scared, Dean thinks. He’s shaking a little, and he looks like maybe he’s going to start crying, too. “Dean, kiddo, what’s wrong?”

The words aren’t there anymore, though, so Dean just watches him, tears still slipping silently down his cheeks. Watches the way Daddy crumples a little bit before pulling him closer, wrapping him up in the coat he’s wearing.

“Let’s get you inside,” Daddy mumbles against the top of Dean’s head, and it’s only then that Dean registers, distantly, that he’s left the door open behind him and that Sammy is crying. The world is trying to pull him back in and all that Dean wants is to leave it all behind him. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

Dean stays quiet, and the world comes back hard as they step into the little room that will never be their home. Daddy wraps him up in blankets and tends to the baby, and Dean stares at nothing, shivers wracking his body and lips parted, slightly, trying to breathe past the heavy sense of emptiness that sits on his chest.

Everything is too real and too much, and more than anything, Dean wants it to stop. The sad people around him, and the moving, and the hurt, and the crying, and Sammy and Daddy and losing everything else, and he just-

He just wants everything to stop.

**Author's Note:**

> Baby Dean needs a hug.
> 
> Apparently this is my 100th work on here, which is. ??? Neat.


End file.
